


The Last Olive Branch

by spacemutt57



Series: Warriors Rewritten Drabbles [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23205223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemutt57/pseuds/spacemutt57
Summary: A series of psuedo-ficlets from user suggestions:"How is Brindleface feeling about the nursery, by the way? Still over the moon, or has the huntress's itch gotten to her?" Bluestar asked, the matronly edge to her voice mollifying. She did not want to send her deputy to his den with a thorn in his coat, and knew that nothing delighted him more than the opportunity to gush about his mate and kit.
Series: Warriors Rewritten Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668376
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's been a minute since I've given myself the opportunity to write and not only plan, plan, plan, so I've taken a few requests from my Tumblr and hope to have more to share soon. These are very stream-of-consciousness, and I am delighted to share that I had input from both Anne (onedivinemisfit) and Grey (burnt-sycamore) after I poured out the first draft, which was much needed because I am rustier than a bike left out in winter.
> 
> This is the first in a (hopeful) series of psuedo-ficlets from user suggestions on Tumblr. Takes place in the Warriors Rewritten universe, but not necessarily canon to our own... canon. Please also feel free to leave requests at the '@sleepykaru' Tumblr handle below.
> 
> Being that part of these prompts is not allowing myself to over-plan, or really plan at all, there may be some possible timeline conflicts here that I have not investigated, so let's pretend that I have and that everything's looking as it should. I'm using these scribbles more to finally explore and flesh out the characters I've been adjusting and developing in my head since 2016, which is to say, I am using the world built for Warriors Rewritten (an AU, WarriorsRewritten) which, although it of course pulls from canon, does not follow its rules. That's one reason you may notice that Fuzzypelt is now Spiderpelt, and Mistyfoot is without the y.
> 
> Anyway, I do hope you enjoy! Feedback is always largely appreciated!

* * *

**"Bluestar and Redtail hanging out, maybe a casual debrief after a gathering" - burnt-sycamore**

* * *

Thunderclan camp seemed as vacant as Windclan's rolling moors this late into the night. The last of the Gathering patrol had brushed cheeks with their clanmates and disappeared, whisks of moonlight bouncing off of their tail-tips, into the bracken. A single warrior with dark, wiry fur remained, standing watch by the camp entrance, a set of yellow eyes against the shadows. His ears were pricked but posture slacked; no one would attack on the night of the Gathering. No matter the Shadowclan leader's impertinence, or Crookedstar's rancorous glower, those kinds of wolfish assaults were the conduct of rogues.

It was difficult to ignore the building and repressed hostilities of the night's Gathering, but when her warriors were tucked away in their dens and the camp was swathed in silver light, Bluestar could imagine, just for a moment, what peace felt like. From atop the Highrock, she raised her small, grey nose towards the sky and embraced the rush of cool midnight air as it swept against her whiskers. It carried the scent of rich soil, sugar maple leaves and cinnamon ferns, and… Redtail.

"The Shadowclan apprentices looked pretty small, don't you think?"

One warrior still carried too much on his mind to sleep, evidently. Bluestar's deputy emerged from the shadows cast by Highrock, his brightly patched, tabby coat brushing against the side of the stone mound as he approached. With only a few precise bounds did he join her side, sitting down beside the mouth of her den.

"I hadn't noticed," she replied truthfully, unperturbed by his sudden arrival. She groomed her paw, the other hanging loosely off the stones while she considered him. It was difficult to catch faces in the throng of cats gathered beneath the Great Rock, lit up only by the soft glow of the moon, scattered between the leaves of Fourtrees. The smell of all four clans in one space, generation after generation, was also so pungent that she could hardly distinguish the scents of the leaders sitting beside her. "Shadowclan cats have always been small."

Redtail shook his head. "One still smelled of milk," he meowed grimly as he wrapped his thick, red tail neatly over his paws. "Those new apprentices Brokenstar announced tonight… I don't think even a season has passed since he reported their births."

Bluestar looked up at him. His muscles were tight, green-and-gold eyes narrowed into slits, glaring into the dark forest ahead of them as if locking eyes with Shadowclan's leader beyond the twisting roots and undergrowth between them. This kind of animosity was not familiar to his features. Often, his bi-coloured eyes were bright with fervor, delighting and inspiring cats around him, but she appreciated this more somber passion, too. There was a reason she had chosen him to be her deputy. He was meticulous with details, and his compassion reached more than just his own clanmates. Bluestar had once, as a warrior, seen what caring solely for one's clan led to. Her rival for leadership had been a burly, hateful warrior named Thistleclaw who died as he had lived: covered in blood equally his own and his enemies'. Redtail, conversely, would make for an excellent leader one day.

Her mind having wandered, she scrambled for something relevant to add, but before she had a chance to respond, his gaze had moved towards the nursery, wearing a different kind of determination that piqued her interest.

"I never want Sandkit to leave the nursery," Redtail confessed. "The sight of her and Brindleface curled up together in their nest, warm, well-fed, happy… I never want it to change. Even when she's six moons old, I won't be ready." He paused and glanced down at Bluestar. In spite of his youthful appearance, Redtail in this moment looked very much like a father, the kind that Bluestar would have looked up to as a kit; the kind that couldn't bear to think that kittens were being exploited, even in an enemy clan. Warmth blossomed in her chest. How lucky Sandkit was.

The feeling of tenderness was fleeting, however, carved out by heavy claws as she considered what her deputy was surmising. Apprenticing kittens before they were six moons of age was explicitly against the Warrior Code—in her life, she had never known a leader wicked enough to break such a sacred law. Kittens were not as sure-footed, and still an easy target for predators if not under the immediate protection of a warrior. Thunderclan kits were meticulously monitored both within camp and the nursery. It was foolish and reckless to do anything less; better, she felt, to prevent a tragedy than to regret it later, and her clanmates shared the sentiment.

Bluestar exhaled quietly and dipped her head. "If Brokenstar is breaking the code, then the stars will punish him," she assured him, but the words did little to settle her own unrest. Her faith in star-guided paths had wavered since she was a young warrior, a secret she shared with only few of her companions. If Starclan had the influence and control over them that her uncle had once avowed, then they had killed her mother, her sister, and her daughter, and let Thistleclaw do as much harm as he did. She didn't like to think the stars were so cruel. Whatever the truth was, and whatever her own doubts, there was no reason for her to let such a burdensome uncertainty rest on the shoulders of her deputy. She could only do her own part, and hope that Shadowclan would not instigate battle between their clans. She had no interest in fighting kits.

"The queens would never stand for this," Redtail groused. "I don't understand how they could. Brindleface would never."

Bluestar's tail-tip twitched.

"Whatever is happening in the marsh is Shadowclan's own affairs. You do not need to worry about Sandkit or Brindleface," she insisted.

"But it's wrong. Having a leader that spits in the face of these laws, it's not only bad for Shadowclan, it's bad for the forest."

Bluestar's long, grey tail slapped loudly against the stone, demanding his attention. "Brokenstar is not your leader, and they are not your clanmates. Until they start crossing our borders or stealing our prey, this is not Thunderclan's to deal with."

"Bluestar, a leader who displays such levels of negligence to his clan's own kits isn't going to obey any other part of the code. When you send kittens to battle, prey-theft is just another hunting patrol. This kind of cruelty will affect every clan!" Redtail's fur had started to prickle while he spoke, a mix of black and red strands bristling skyward, highlighted against the night sky. The cat on watch—Spiderpelt, it looked like—had turned his head curiously towards the Highrock, but looked away the moment he caught his leader's gaze.

Bluestar lingered on the black-furred warrior before shooting a look over her shoulder at Redtail, and sat up to be on level with the deputy. She admired his mercy, but she could not allow him to wield his justice so blindly.

"We have lost many of our warriors this season, Redtail. Thunderclan needs to be able to protect itself before it can go looking for trouble, and problem-solving for other clans." Brows furrowed, the bite in her words did not appear lost on him. He turned away from her, his ears pinned back, but the fur along his back began to flatten. "As you said," Bluestar continued, "Shadowclan queens would not stand for this. Whatever blind obedience or reverence they have now will break the moment one of those kits gets injured. Have you ever known a Shadowclan molly to simply roll belly-up? They aren't kittypets."

She hated the thought that it would have to come to maiming or worse to light a fire underneath Shadowclan's den-mothers. Furthermore, she hoped she was right. If the issue with Brokenstar persisted, then it quelled nothing in her to sit here and conceivably lie to her deputy. The thought of kittens being pushed to train as warriors frightened her, but she knew her clan could not afford to meddle in the affairs of others, no matter the purpose. To denounce Brokenstar at the next Gathering could easily lead to something she and her warriors were not equipped to handle, and to sneak around Shadowclan's borders was in itself a violation of the code. Warriors could be lost. She could not afford to lose them.

Redtail was staring at his paws with the same ferocity he would stare down an enemy on the frontlines. He had dipped his head, she presumed so that she could not see, but she did.

"Redtail," she murmured, "you are not wrong to care about this."

When he did not respond right away, Bluestar leaned forward and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder fondly. Though she could hardly ever afford to genuinely speak her mind, she did not want him to feel as though his concerns were falling on deaf ears. She would never have chosen a deputy who did not care as much as he did. He leaned into it.

"There is something happening in the forest," Redtail said swiftly, interrupting Bluestar's train of thought as he lifted his stare to meet hers. "In Shadowclan, Riverclan, Windclan, Thunderclan… something is wrong, Bluestar. I can feel it. Something is afoot."

Her heart constricted tightly. The dreadful words that fell from his mouth made the formerly tranquil quiet of the dark all of a sudden eerie, the once calming wave of shadows cast the branches above striking the camp like rattlesnakes.

She wished he was just an overzealous deputy, imagining things so that he could prove his mettle as a protector of his clan. But she had no reason to doubt his intuition, aside from the aching plea in her chest that he was wrong. His attention to detail had astounded her many times. But, through witnessing the fall from grace of Thunderstar's lineage, Thistleclaw's bloodlust, her lost relationship with Oakheart, her kittens, her family… Bluestar lifted her head towards the stars and prayed that her deputy was simply ruffled from the Gathering, on edge because of ancient conflicts, just like everyone else. No exceptions.

Another soft exhale left her body as she pushed her worries down as far as they would go.

"If that is so, then it is up to us to protect our clanmates," she said firmly. She didn't want him to speak on it any further. "The cats of this forest have fallen and risen time and time again. For every death and birth, every disaster and every evil, we are still here. Let's pave the way so that Sandkit and her denmates can stand here one day and say the same."

When it comes a time where we can lend our strength, if Brokenstar continues on this dark path, then we will intervene... and you can lead the charge."

Gratefully, Redtail seemed satisfied with this response. He bowed his head to her. Part of her suspected he wanted to get Brokenstar's malevolence contained before Sandkit was a -paw and became a part of the fight.

"I apologise for raising my voice, Bluestar. I was out of line," he said as she stared at the split black-and-red pattern on his forehead.

"Lucky no one was here to see it," Bluestar teased, relaxing back down onto the cool, flat stone. "Spiderpelt is a wise old tom, and I've never known him to gossip, but maybe you should save him a nice, plump mouse tomorrow, just in case."

He lifted his nose to meet her with rounded eyes, and she was completely amused. How young and headstrong this tom was, who she had chosen as her second-in-command. She admired his fire, and had Thunderclan been at its full strength, she would have lent him any resource he needed.

At least, she would like to believe that she would. She spared no room in her mind for "what if's."

Thunderclan's numbers were the lowest she had ever known them to be, and between the three queens in the nursery, their litters were small. Only four kits remained, and only time would tell whether Robinwing's sickly younger son would make it to his apprenticeship.

"How is Brindleface feeling about the nursery, by the way? Still over the moon, or has the huntress's itch gotten to her?" Bluestar asked, the matronly edge to her voice mollifying. She did not want to send her deputy to his den with a thorn in his coat, and knew that nothing delighted him more than the opportunity to gush about his mate and kit.

"She loves it," he responded cordially, and gradually allowed himself to light up just the way she knew he would. "She's already talking about having another litter once Sandkit is older. Lionheart and Frostfur have been talking about kittens... I think Brindle likes the idea of being in the nursery with her sister."

"Ha," Bluestar mewed. "She's the youngest of us four, of course she would delight in guiding Frostfur through her first litter. Has she considered becoming a nursemaid?"

Redtail looked towards the nursery. "We haven't spoken about it yet."

"Well," Bluestar adjusted her forelegs by her chest to soothe the stiffness in her shoulders, "let me know if she's interested in staying there full-time. Doesn't need to be now... maybe after that second litter. She'll know for certain, then, if she can resist the bodily urges to smack around a Riverclan patrol."

Redtail's tail quivered, clearly taken by the image. Brindleface was not quite the fighter that Tigerclaw was, but she could act like it. It took no omen or vision from Starclan to cue cats in on when to turn tail and run when the spotted queen was angry. If she found that her future was caring for kittens, Bluestar would respect her wishes, but she would certainly miss having her flank to lean against in battle.

"Do you think Crookedstar will still send his warriors across the river after tonight?" Redtail's voice cut through her thoughts. His tail had stilled.

"I think Riverclan will cross as many times as it takes them to grow gills like a fish," Bluestar scoffed, feeling her shoulders sag. The struggle for Sunningrocks was many seasons older than her, incited by one of her predecessors, Redstar, when he claimed the land for Thunderclan in what she could only assume was a lavish power move. His descendants had all kept up the fight—seemingly out of self-imposed obligation, at least by Pinestar's rule—and it took everything within Bluestar not to just give it up. It was decent hunting grounds, and the elders she adored enjoyed basking on the sun-warmed stones, but it was also the burial site of Riverclan's founder. For that, despite its advantages to Thunderclan, it would always be a battle without end.

"Keep the border controlled," she advised him. "We can't afford to look weak now. Treat Sunningrocks as though we can spare the warriors to have it under constant watch. I want Shadowclan's attention off of us, and if Crookedstar has an opportunity to gloat at the next Gathering, I doubt Brokenstar won't notice."

Redtail nodded.

"Now, go get some rest, Redtail. You won't have time to brag to Sandkit about tomorrow's hunt if you don't wake up in time to organise it." She flicked her ear, dismissing him.

"It's an honour to serve under you."

Her whiskers twitched, taken by surprise. But her deputy elaborated nothing further and got to his paws, beginning his way down the grooves of the Highrock. She chanced a peek over the edge.

"May Starclan bless your dreams," he meowed, looking back at her, blinking slowly.

"And yours. Sleep well."

She watched him cast one last look towards the bramble thicket where the kittens lay before his black tail-tip disappeared with all the other warriors. Once he was out of sight, Bluestar lowered her chin between her paws, curling them towards her chest tightly.

Whatever Redtail was anticipating, she hoped she would be enough to fight it.

Eyes closed, she saw Sandkit batting at her father's tail as the sun began to peek through the winding trunks of black cherry trees above them. Willowpelt had spent the morning grooming pieces of leaf litter out of Greykit's fuzzy coat as Whitestorm explained to him the importance of not jumping headfirst into green hawthornes. At sun-high, the clan had broken out into hysterics as Mousepaw dragged a squirrel into camp that was about the same size as she was. Across the river, she could see Stonefur and Mistfoot chatting with their father about the incredible sturgeon they had seen during patrol, how their clanmates had dared them to try and catch it. Of course, for this, Bluestar had to use her imagination.

The molly curled into a ball, nose tucked against her downy, grey belly.

_Please don't let me fail them._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bluestar would never go for that one,” Tigerclaw entertained her, but licked some of the litter off his shoulder. “Doesn’t even sound good.” After a swift grooming, he lifted his amber gaze to meet hers, his concentration on her so intense that she did forget for a moment that she was not his quarry. “I think you’ll find my name suits me quite well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broad. Shouldered. Brown. Tabby.
> 
> Reminder that there may be elements that conflict with canon, as I am using my own AU universe for these ficlets! Some terms may be different too, such as she-cat being replaced with the term "molly", which is the proper counterpart to the canonically used "tom" which refers to male cats.
> 
> Despite all that, and hopefully even in favour of it, I hope you enjoy a chapter of reminiscence!

* * *

**"Goldenflower and Tigerclaw interacting before anyone knew he was a traitor" - burnt-sycamore**

* * *

Goldenflower never thought she would fall back into routine. 

It was amazing to watch the clan gradually return to normal, day after day. No longer did her clanmates fear going far out on patrols, and no longer did apprentices and kittens press close to their mothers in fear of a looming threat, of dog teeth and rogue claws. There was a set of new apprentices who had been born after the battle, who knew not of Tigerstar or of Scourge, and watching them, Goldenflower would have never known there was a battle at all.

In the first moon to follow, there was a lingering sense of unity at the Gathering. Every clan was still distinctly its own, but their warriors had all flanked each other in battle and it was not something that would be forgotten so soon. Even after cats had returned to bickering and butting heads, it was harmless. It was peaceful. No one was ready to give that up again.

From her den, Goldenflower watched Firestar’s young daughter, Squirrelkit, tease and bat at her fellow denmate. She was a lively little thing, with thick red fur that reminded Goldenflower of the kitten’s grandfather, but with the nosiness of her father and brazenness of her mother when she was young. The black-furred tom and target of Squirrelkit’s heckling, Spiderkit, bristled and spat something that Goldenflower could not make out from across camp and began to chase her down the ravine.

In that moment, as black and red fur zipped past her, dread gripped Goldenflower’s belly like a hungry set of teeth. Dappletail, laying a few lengths away from her, yowled something at the young cats but it didn’t register. Without a word to her denmates, Goldenflower got to her paws and stepped out of camp.

How could things return to normal, and yet nothing was the same? For as much as she pushed it down, the question echoed in her ears at all hours of the day.

Deeper into the woods, the smell of oaks and black cherries swaddled her, curling into her fur and buffeting against her whiskers. There was the taste of mouse on the breeze, but Goldenflower could not bring herself to stalk it. Her legs were on an old, once trodden path and step-by-step they would not divert. 

Her golden fur brushed against various ferns and wildflowers as she walked, the same that had been there since she was an apprentice, many moons ago, traipsing across the territory for the first time with her late littermate and friends. Nostalgically, she leaned into the tendrils until the winding roots of a familiar red maple came into view. The tree’s massive, gnarly roots stuck out of the ground, worn with claw marks of young Thunderclan cats who had jumped and climbed them in moons past.

Silently, Goldenflower sat among the roots, pressing her brow against the tree trunk like it was an old friend.

* * *

“I win!” Goldenflower trilled, her claws digging into the maple roots to keep her steady. “Those big paws of yours might be good for keeping rogues off our territory, but I have never seen a warrior run like that! Should I speak to Bluestar and arrange to call you Badgerstep?” She lifted her tail as the lumbering tabby caught up. Tigerclaw’s dark, shaggy coat bounced with each leap, and promptly she found herself distracted by it.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growled, short of breath, but the rumble in his throat was pleasant. Nothing about him was hostile, from his smooth, brown coat to the playful twinkle in his eyes. Even the stoicism that so plagued him when he was amongst his peers was absent, either on a Shadowclan border patrol or conferring with Bluestar and Redtail. It was _her_ Tigerclaw that was here with her now, the one who indulged her in these chases across Thunderclan’s territory, even though he knew she would win. She always won.

“Wouldn’t I?” she mewed coyly, bounding onto a taller root, putting more distance between them. Just as she had hoped, Tigerclaw followed, stepping onto the wide, twisting roots of the tree in pursuit. Goldenflower felt a little like a young apprentice, and a little like a squirrel. Most warriors she knew were not playing the same games as she and Tigerclaw were. Brindleface and Frostfur had always spoken about their toms’ attempts to woo them with some sort of… _sophistication_ that had been so far missing in Goldenflower’s life.

There was a time when she thought that she and Patchpelt were treading the same path together. He was a handsome tom, a few moons older than her with cloud-white fur and storm-black spots. He was intelligent and pragmatic, easily lost in the crowd but interesting and beautiful in his own right. Just as she thought that things were coming to a head, however, a clanmate announced she was pregnant with his kits. Goldenflower had felt like a fool for moons to follow. Not only had she been clearly misconstruing signals from Patchpelt, but she thought she had lost her one shot at having a mate and family, and didn’t understand what she might have done to mess it up. The scariest part was not knowing. 

It was a while after that she noticed so long as they were in the same part of the territory, Tigerclaw always found his way to her side.

She didn’t understand it at first, and didn’t pay it much mind. Tigerclaw had grown up around two beautiful mollies, the sisters Frostfur and Brindleface. It was the same with Bluestar and Snowfur in their generation. Goldenflower never caught anyone’s eye the same way that they had, and instead resigned herself to her duties and tried to think little of it. The adoration for kittens and their well-being that had sparked early on and earned her the suffix, unfortunately, made that a challenge.

Broad-shouldered and good-looking, she thought Tigerclaw’s interests would lie elsewhere than a forgettable molly like herself, but he was here and it was reassuring, at least.

Tigerclaw leapt up to meet her suddenly, nose-to-nose, balancing precariously with paws between her own. Goldenflower reeled up in surprise and with a single bound, flew over the large tom’s head and back onto the forest floor. With a mischievous twitch of her ear, she crouched and bolted in between the winding tree roots as he hurried after her.

He was spirited and kept up now with ease, but his long-furred coat picked up much more debris than she had ever before considered with her own short, pale golden fur before. With another few well-timed jumps, she wound up peering at him from above. His fur had collected an assortment of fallen leaves and samaras, all poking out between different strands of brown and black hairs.

“Well, the good news is that Hedgehogfur would also suit you just fine if Badgerstep bothers you so much!” 

“Bluestar would never go for that one,” Tigerclaw entertained her, but licked some of the litter off his shoulder. “Doesn’t even sound good.” After a swift grooming, he lifted his amber gaze to meet hers, his concentration on her so intense that she did forget for a moment that she was not his quarry. “I think you’ll find my name suits me quite well.”

Her own footing blundering as he sprung towards her (the reason, she felt, that she had not earned -tail at her ceremony), he wrapped his forelegs around her as they tumbled off and through the roots. When she felt her hind paw hit the ground below them, she pushed down with all the strength in her legs, sending them somersaulting into the witch alders. The shrub rustled around them, small white petals falling onto Goldenflower’s back as she pressed Tigerclaw, belly-up, into the dirt.

She was no stranger to Tigerclaw’s prowess; she knew that if he wanted to, with a swift kick to the stomach he could send her reeling off of him. But he laid beneath her without complaint, without any stiffness in his muscles or resentment to be seen. He was a prideful tom who came from, inarguably, the most important and influential lineage that Thunderclan had ever known. A champion in battle, his facial scars were evidence of his courage, his tenacity, his unwillingness to lose and to never back down from a fight.

In battle, she had never seen him submit to anyone. An enemy warrior in her position would have hooked claws at her neck in an instant, and Goldenflower had seen him easily and shamelessly triumph over his clanmates during friendly spars with his dangerous claws sheathed.

No one else knew how soft his fur could be, how it tapered to a light brown like the spore-bearing frond of a cinnamon fern. She squinted her yellow eyes at him and purred.

“Out-maneuevered,” he said, hushedly as if he was confessing a well-protected secret. “I underestimated how strong you are once again, Goldenflower.”

Warmth spread through her ears, pinkening the tips. 

“You say that every time, Tigerclaw. Do you repress your losses so quickly?” she mewed, tail curling behind her confidently.

He shook his head. “This does not feel like losing.” He stretched his large paws forwards until her jaw was caught gently between rough, black pads. “I forget your strength so that you may feel the need to show me again. You may best me as many times as there are stars, and I would consider it a gift.”

At once, she batted at his nose and jumped off of him swiftly. No tom had ever spoken to her in such a way before him. Certainly, she adored it, but she had yet to figure out how to take it in stride. For now, she was too flustered, and all she could do was swat at him for his brassiness.

Swiftly, too, could she fall into a pit of wondering what it was exactly he saw in her. Tigerclaw spoke highly of her strength, and Goldenflower knew that she was not only taller than most of the mollies in their clan, but definitely more muscular. Her mother, Speckletail, towered above the other queens, and her father had been easy to catch in a crowd, even when not atop the Highrock.

Behind her, Tigerclaw let out a disappointed chuff and rolled onto his side.

She allowed herself to glance at him only once before beginning to vigorously groom her flank in an attempt to cover up her bashfulness, but she could hear his heavy tail batting at the ground, dragging slowly against the grass.

She tried to ignore it.

“Something bothers you,” he noted in a voice that became more comfortable as he joined her side. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Nothing bothers me,” she turned away, but when she said it, it felt like the truth. Her mother had taught her from a young age to be as solid as a rock for those around her, and so she was. When her father died, when Patchpelt rebuffed her, through everything else, she stayed strong. She had assisted the queens in the nursery and made close allies out of the warriors and apprentices she had helped rear, bonds that would not have been so strong if she had not been so passionate about the clan’s youth. She was a pillar of support for them. 

But, she didn’t feel lovely. She was a fierce warrior, she definitely knew her strengths and knew she was an asset to the clan, but for moons she believed that was where her role ended. And it was fine, but selfishly, she couldn’t help but pine for more.

Tigerclaw was still young; where did their interests meet, outside of romps in the forest and flights of fancy? Was she simply a way to pass the time, until someone else came along?

“Nothing but when your nest clumps to one side while you sleep, or when your brother stretches at night and his tail tickles your nose.”

She blinked. These were small things that she had innocuously complained about… why, she couldn’t even remember how long ago.

“Your mind has been half with me, half elsewhere. You think too much, Goldenflower.”

Her tail slapped against the ground.

“About your denmates,” Tigerclaw quickly corrected himself. “On the dawn patrol, when Frostfur had to take your place in that warren because the tunnels became too narrow, your fur was prickling until sun-high.”

Goldenflower whirled to meet his adoring, amber stare. He sat unfazed.

“She may have gotten to the rabbit, but she never would have been able to drag it back to camp.”

“ _You_ brought it back to camp,” she pointed out. She had only been a little embarrassed at the time, but she liked where this was going.

“I had nothing else to offer,” he dismissed. “I’m no hunter. You brought down two squirrels on the way back, and squared off against that little fox who sought to take them. Frostfur didn’t. Frostfur ran.”

“I don’t want you to speak poorly of her,” Goldenflower interrupted sternly, but couldn’t fight the twitch of her whiskers. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. She’s a decent warrior, but you are forgetting that you’re an even better one.” He pressed his chin softly against her ear.

“I don’t know about that…” She lowered her head and leaned into his gentle touch, unable to control the purr that rumbled from her chest.

“Do you really admire me for my strength?” 

Goldenflower had always been blunt, something she felt she had also learned from her mother. She wanted honesty now. It was easy to get wrapped up in the moment, and for as powerful as Tigerclaw was, his compliments could have been dripping in sarcasm with this time. She had gone too long thinking Patchpelt reciprocated her interest, after all, so what did she know?

“I admire you for many things… but yes, I do like it. I would not take a mate with any less moxie than you, and you are… overabundant.”

“Mate?” she echoed. Her heart fluttered.

“You’re surprised,” he realised flatly.

“I’ve watched toms pursue other mollies my whole life,” she mewed, her voice uncharacteristically small. “I thought something might be wrong with me. You are an extremely capable young tom with a bright future. Son of Pinestar, practically adopted by Bluestar, you could have anything and anyone.”

Tigerclaw’s intensity was palpable. “Then let me have you, Goldenflower.”

Her ears burned, she might have dunked her head in water had any streams been nearby. An evening in puerile name-calling had not ended the way she had imagined. He seemed to take her silence as a suggestion to continue.

“I would like to see ourselves as elders one day, our kittens as fine warriors, and a bright future for their own. I want you by my side when I become deputy. If you’d have me.”

“ _If!_ ” Goldenflower _mrrowed_ , and knocked her head so hard against his shoulder she almost toppled him. “To imagine I would mother Badgerstep’s kittens!”

Tigerclaw snorted, and she burrowed her face into his neck fur. She hadn’t even realised how much it felt like she had been carrying the weight of six rabbits on her back until it was lifted off of her.

“That would make me very happy. You are a strange tom, Tigerclaw. Hopefully they will inherit my grace.”

“Yes, if they should be so lucky, _Wobblestep_.”

She pushed her forepaws against him until he was forced to get to his paws to steady himself. “That’s not even a real name! I was going to let you name one of the kittens, but now you can’t.”

She could feel Tigerclaw roll his eyes, but the tom said nothing, resting his chin on the top of her head. Purring into his shoulder, Goldenflower looked up at the pleasant, baby blue sky as a flock of sooty-feathered swifts flew by, high up above them. With sunlight warming her coat and validity strengthening her heart, she could see already just how wonderful their lives were going to be.

* * *

“Goldenflower?” 

The old molly was curled into a ball by the base of the tree trunk, protected by the maple’s wild roots. Upon hearing her name, only her ear flicked in response. She needn’t look up to see who it was. She would recognise the presence of her last surviving son anywhere.

“It’s sunset. Have you been here all day?” Bramblepaw mewed and she could catch the worry in his voice that he tried so hard to protect. Guilt ran through Goldenflower’s coat like a colony of ants, and she brought herself to her paws at once. He had already been through so much in his young life, she didn’t want to trouble him with her memories.

“Yes,” she admitted, her voice still heavy with somnolence. The tabby apprentice approached her cautiously, his expression taut with concern. “I’m fine,” Goldenflower ascertained, and gave the young tom a few swift licks to his cheek. She almost had to lean up to groom him now, he had gotten so tall.

 _You look so much like your father,_ she wanted to say, but could not. He, nor anyone else, would take it as a compliment. The good memories of Tigerclaw had died in everyone else. They were wounded in her, defaced by his betrayal and courtship with Leopardstar, and pillaged by the death of their son. 

She had been so furious with him. The cat he had become was absolutely vile, and she never would have taken him as a mate if she had seen sooner what he was capable of. More than anything, she was miserable at how it had split their family, and affected the way that some of their own clanmates viewed them. She would never forgive him, but she couldn’t forget the good she had seen once. It had been just as real as everything else.

Even still, she could not help but imagine what their lives could have been like if he hadn’t chosen such a dark path, or wonder if there was something she could have done to stop him. The dogs would not have taken Swiftpaw, Tawnypaw would have stayed in Thunderclan. The thought had plagued her for as long as she could remember, after his exile.

But it was what it was, and she did not mean to be ungrateful of Bramblepaw. For as difficult as her life had been at times, she still had her memories, and she still had her son.

“Let’s go back to camp,” he suggested, but it was a poor disguise for a plea. “Firestar and I caught a squirrel earlier—probably the fattest one I’ve ever seen. Let’s share it.”

“I would like that,” she purred. "So long as the kittens have already eaten."

Goldenflower butted her head against his shoulder affectionately and they walked shoulder-to-shoulder back towards camp. Bramblepaw was her pride and joy, and like her mother had once taught her, she would resume being his rock.


End file.
